


After Hours

by LinneanSpora314



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3680448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneanSpora314/pseuds/LinneanSpora314
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wells is seen reflecting in solitude in Star Labs after hours, when Caitlin interrupts him briefly. He finds himself plagued by his past, and by a ghost from another life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Hours

Alone in the eerie dimness of S.T.A.R. Labs, the man known to the world as Harrison Wells sat gazing into the distance. Soothing music plays in the background. It is late, and a cool stillness has descended over the City and its inhabitants. Cisco and Caitlin have already left, by now they are probably enjoying a drink downtown with Barry, or in the latter’s case, several dozen drinks… 

Harrison reclined into the depths of his wheelchair, sensing that the speed force was exceptionally low that evening. Sighing, he shifted a little in his seat, his right arm grasping his armrest in order to alleviate his weight. His discomfort was apparent, and the rise in humidity did not help matters. Whenever raindrops fell from the skies the pain would resurface. Sometimes he would feel the tingling in the small of his back descend down his spine, and into the region of ambiguity where real sensation ends and a phantom memory of feeling would start. At other times, the pain would be unbearable, searing through his body and sending his back into spasm, and he would be forced to retreat into the privacy of a darkened room, and wait for it to subside. 

Right now, he was struggling, even his arms felt weak. Gingerly his fingers hovered over the joystick of his wheelchair, and he inched forwards towards the computer screen. The chair halted centimetres from the edge of the table, and he reached forwards for the keyboard. Work had always been his escape, the only way by which he could forget, about the past, about Tess. Tess, he breathed; desperately he tried to blink away the image of that familiar face that was forming on his retina. 

But was it so familiar after all? For she was simply a stranger haunting another man’s memories… Yet time after time, he would be convinced he could still see her, out of the corner of his eye, by the lamppost outside his house, or beside him on the bed, staring back at him through sad unblinking eyes. 

The part of him that was Harrison Wells, the _real_ Harrison Wells, made damn sure that she would not be forgotten. For the real Harrison Wells, he had had the likeness of Tess Morgan written into every fibre of his organic being. 

Whenever he was alone, he could still sense her presence. Or rather, he could sense the gaping void left by her absence, pulsing, and gnawing away at him from the inside, tugging at his heart strings in tandem with the music that was circulating the dark recesses of the lab. 

_Tess would have loved that song._ Said a voice inside his head, that sounded too much like his own. 

He blinked away the tears, and took another sip of his drink. The piece of code that he had brought up on the screen blurred into an uncompromising mass of symbols and childish scrawls. He let his mind succumb to the alcohol - for it was the only way to numb that loss.

Sure enough, the pain, and the sorrow, melted away into the brooding solitude. 

“Dr Wells?” A familiar voice penetrated his reverie. He turned his head to see Caitlin standing in the doorway. The simple action sent a painful shock through the right side of his body. He winced before he could stop himself, which certainly did not escape Caitlin’s watchful eyes.

“Dr Wells are you okay?” She asked, full of concern as she came instinctively to his aid. 

“Caitlin, I’m fine! What are you doing here at this hour?” 

“I just came to pick up my headset… are you still working on the tracking algorithm? You should go home and take a rest, it’s been a long day and you’ve been… well, sitting in that chair for more than 14 hours, which can’t be good…”

“Don’t worry Caitlin, I’ll be fine, a little sore, but otherwise fine.” He said, giving her a knowing wink. “Actually it’s rather late, I think I will take the good doctor’s advice and go home. In fact, how about I give you a lift back?” 

Caitlin pondered the offer briefly, confused that her boss would insist on escorting her home despite being the one who is obviously in need of escorting. Inwardly she felt a twang of guilt resurface, as she recalled vividly how Harrison Wells used to command S.T.A.R. Labs, pacing up and down its corridors, exuding all that nervous energy.

And now, he was sat quietly in front of her, broken, repentant, but calm. The wheelchair would be the single contradiction: liberating him and yet, served as a constant reminder of all that he had lost. 

She pretended not to notice the opened bottle of bourbon on the side table, nor the glittering contents of his glass — beneath that undisturbed meniscus there was the potential for awesome power… and equally, trapped beneath Harrison Wells’ calm brooding exterior, there was conflict, chaos, and some unfathomable speed was gathering force. Caitlin could sense it, and desperately she wanted to rush over to his side, to make it all better, to hug his troubles away.

But instead she found herself lying to him for the first time in a long time: “Thanks, but actually, Barry’s waiting for me just outside…” And bid him goodnight.

God knows she was not a good liar, but sometimes, once in a while, nobody wants to hear the truth. 

He was left alone once more. The computer screen had gone into screensaver mode - a blank screen on which flashed the words S.T.A.R. labs. 

_The only star in the sky…_ The voice inside his head reminded him.

The man known to the world as Harrison Wells gazed at his strange and yet familiar reflection. He took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes; sometimes, he needed that reflection to remind him of who he was.


End file.
